


I Fought the Law and the Law Won

by Paranoid_Android



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cop Fetish, Humor, John's a cop, M/M, RST, Sherlock Being Sherlock, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-07
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-17 23:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/873244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoid_Android/pseuds/Paranoid_Android
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a uniformed cop, and keeps running into Sherlock Holmes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Traffic Stop

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this is not correct as far as British police terms and that sort of thing, since I am 'Merican. :-) The car is real though, just Google it!
> 
> Also, I know cops don't carry guns in England, but I read a very few do carry them...but it has to be special circumstances. I am assuming John is one if the very few, maybe because of his marksmanship?

Captain John Watson, recently of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, really didn’t mind being a street cop.  He liked the nitty-grittiness of it, the adrenaline of catching a thief in the act, the thrill of saving someone from a mugging or stabbing.  It was fine for now anyway.  When he was on the beat his leg didn’t hurt that much, he assumed due to the extra exercise.  He sure as hell wasn’t going to use his cane while working, which would make him seem weak to some enterprising criminals. As soon as he was back at his small apartment, or whenever he had a few days off, his limp came back with a vengeance.  PTSD, his therapist had said. 

John had pulled the short straw and was currently watching the traffic back up along the M25.  He sighed at the thought of pulling over another person who couldn’t make ends meet.  Sometimes he could let them off, but most of the time he had to write them a ticket.  The times John pulled over a rich person he was glad because he didn’t feel so guilty.  His radio burst alive with static before a DI came on and asked all available officers to converge on a hostage scene on the other side of London.  John gave a bored sigh.  He never got those!

He jerked his head up as something on the roadway caught his eye.  A…purple Lamborghini???  John did a double-take, and the way the traffic had slowed even more, so did everyone else.  Who on earth would drive that kind of car through downtown London?

John’s interest was piqued even more when he saw that the Lamborghini had black lights affixed to the bottom, sides, and top of the car, giving it an otherworldly look.  John pulled into the traffic and followed the car at a distance.  He didn’t like profiling, but he had good instincts, and when the car increased from 10 to 100 km in less than 3 seconds, he wasn’t surprised.

The driver of the car appeared to be considering his options as he glanced repeatedly at the police lights in the rearview mirror.  He finally pulled over. 

As he walked up behind the car, John noted the license plate, LKMY JNK, and rolled his eyes.  Great.  One of _them_.

He stopped beside the driver’s side window, which slowly rolled down after he gave it a hard knock.

“Yes, what may I do for you, officer?” came the low, succinctly pronounced words, layered with scorn.

John leaned down and what he saw did not surprise him: an attractive, haughty male who looked like he owned the world. Really, really attractive.  Ahem.

John steadied his blue eyes on the man, trying to size him up.  He instantly regretted it.  John blinked and looked away after a few moments.  He needed to remain professional, but something about LKMY JNK’s intense grey eyes made him falter.

“Er, yes.  License and registration please.  Do you realize you were going 40 km over the limit back there?” 

LKMY JNK gave him the most affronted, queen diva look he had seen in some time. 

“And do _you_ realize you are hindering a police investigation, possibly causing a convicted criminal and mass murderer to escape the country, endangering the lives of your fellow officers and those of your superiors, not to mention innocent civilians, just so you can reach some ridiculous quota and maintain a dominant role in your increasingly pathetic life?”

John bristled.  “That’s enough.  You don’t know anything about me!”

“You are recently invalided back from Afghanistan or Iraq, you saw heavy action and likely received a bullet wound, possibly to your leg which you favor, more likely your leg is psychosomatic and the bullet wound is elsewhere.  You don’t like working traffic work but you enjoy the job overall for now, it pays for your small apartment where you live by yourself and more importantly gives you the adrenaline rush you crave from the war.”  The man narrowed his eyes before they blew wide again with knowledge. 

“Ahhh….and you miss it.” 

John stared, his eyes wide in shock.  “That was bloody amazing!”

“Really?”

“Yes, or course.  Absolutely fantastic,” John grinned.

“That’s not what most people say.”

“What do most people say?”

“Piss off.”

Steel grey eyes met deep blue eyes in a few moments of shared mirth.

“As amazing as that was, I still need your license and registration, Mr….?”

The man in the Lamborghini sighed dramatically, replying curtly “Lestrade”.  His eyes had become hard and unreadable again, and his eyebrows were lifted high on his head as if he was insulted.  He held out an ID, which John took.

John looked at the ID, realizing the picture of this Lestrade person (and did that say Detective Inspector?) did not match the man in the Lamborghini. Looking up sharply into amused eyes, John saw the man wink at him before the inevitable screech of wheels. 

Oh no he did NOT! John breathed hard through his nose to keep his anger at bay. He jumped back into the cruiser.

 


	2. A Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if any police/British lingo is incorrect. TDA means "taking and driving away," aka car theft. 'Guv' means police chief or similar, 'skell' means unsavory person, 'twocer' is a car thief. 'Strawberry Mivvie' means civilian.

Sitting in his office, Lestrade was just finishing his coffee when he heard his scanner squawk to life.

“This is Watson. I have a TDA in progress. Possibly impersonating a Guv, might be a Twocer.”

“10-4, Watson, what’s your 20?”

“On the A201 near Walworth Road. The skell's driving a purple Lamborghini. Yes, you heard me right.”

“10-4, sending cars.”

“Had a fake ID with him, one D.I. Lestrade.” With this Lestrade jerked to his feet and grabbed at the microphone.

“Watson. This is D.I. Lestrade. Did this Twocer have curly black hair, grey eyes, really intense personality?”

John crinkled his forehead in confusion as he took a sharp turn. He was right on the perp’s arse. “Yes!”

“Listen to me, Watson, he’s a Strawberry Mivvie. I don’t know why he showed you my ID. Just give me his 20 and we’ll figure it out. Don’t arrest him.”

“But…!” John stuttered in frustration.

“That’s an order.”

“Yes sir,” Watson sighed. “He’s stopping at Lloyd’s Bank.”

Lestrade sighed deeply. “I’ll be right there.”

John jumped out of the cruiser at the same time as the man who was impersonating Lestrade. He took in his surroundings and noticed something was off: no one was going in or out of the bank, and there was no one in the immediate surroundings. It took him another 5 seconds to spot the sniper.

He realized the civilian was in danger and dove, taking the man out around his knees.

“I will have your job if you don’t let me go! It’s not my car, you idiot!” Sherlock kicked out angrily, struggling against the officer.

CRACK!

Sherlock’s eyes widened with realization as John pulled his gun, rolled off Sherlock and took aim, taking out the shooter.

John grabbed his radio and said, “Officer down, Lloyd's bank, civilians in area, possible bank robbery in progress, one perp down.”

“Officer down?” Sherlock’s voice trailed off as he glanced down John’s body and saw the blood.

“Bloody hell, that hurts more than I remember!” John exclaimed as he put pressure on his side.

Sherlock felt something he rarely felt: guilt. He squashed it down and focused on the bleeding man in front of him.

“Let me see,” Sherlock ordered.

“No, stop, I’m a doctor, its fine. Ow! Feels like a graze.” John kept protesting, not wanting to involve the man in his treatment (too much paperwork!).

They both stopped struggling and glared at each other. Just then a shot rang out inside the bank.

“There is a robbery in progress, but they aren’t just after money. I have to get in there,” Sherlock announced smoothly, regaining his composure.

“No you don’t. I cannot allow a civilian to confront armed criminals!” John said.

“Civilian!! Please.” Sherlock scoffed and began to creep out from behind the car.

John growled in frustration. After tearing a strip of fabric off his uniform to hold to his side, he hurried after him. This called for drastic measures, John thought. I am dealing with a madman.

When they got to the corner of the building John overtook Sherlock and sucker punched him. Sherlock dropped to the ground surprisingly gracefully.

Sherlock growled like a wild animal and pulled John down with him.

“Bastard! I’m gonna…” John seethed.

“...trying to catch a criminal!” Sherlock yelled.

“...over privileged cock!”

“And you are a terrible cop! Playing a hero won’t make your nightmares go away!”

The thieves inside the bank laughed at this sight, and seeing a chance to escape, the two bank robbers ran outside, jumped over the fighting men, and vaulted into the Lamborghini.

“Shit!” Sherlock yelled.

The Lamborghini peeled away as John got to his feet. It was already disappearing into London’s back alleys, and he was still bleeding heavily. Sighing, he called in the report and watched with mild interest as two police cars zoomed by.

He sat down on the steps since he was getting dizzy from blood loss. Sherlock began ranting at him about incompetence and letting criminals get away.

“And look at my suit! It’s covered with your blood!” This is what Lestrade heard when he arrived.

“Oh, Christ,” he hurried over to Sherlock and John.

“Officer Watson! What happened? How did they get away? You’re bleeding!” Lestrade called in an ambulance and put pressure on John’s arm.

Sherlock glared at the shorter man until Lestrade turned to him.

“And you! What the bloody hell, Sherlock! Stealing a car, running into another hold up situation on your own, fighting with an officer!”

“I was just borrowing the car, and they stole it first!” Sherlock grumbled. He sat down beside John.

“There’s a dead man on that roof,” John said, pointing.

Lestrade’s shook his head, already feeling a headache coming on just thinking of the mound of paperwork this was going to involve. John looked up at him and started giggling. He couldn’t help it. The blood loss may have contributed as well.

“This...is…ridiculous,” he said through his laughs, taking in gulps of air. He turned to the man beside him he had recently been beating up. "John Watson," he said, shaking silently.

Sherlock turned to him and held his hand out. “Sherlock Holmes,” he also began to laugh then, a deep rich sound that made John’s toes curl.

“You two are nuts. Absolutely insane,” Lestrade muttered, but he too had started to guffaw. By the time Mycroft and then the ambulance arrived, they were howling.


	3. Stake out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock catches up with John at a stake out.

The next time John saw Sherlock he was on a stake out. He had been watching a drug den in the north of London for a good four hours when he saw someone walking up quickly to his undercover police car from behind. He tensed and got ready to get out when the man stooped down level with the passenger side window. John smiled when he saw Sherlock's smirk, and unlocked the door for him.

"Hello, John," Sherlock said, looking quite pleased with himself.

"Yeah...Sherlock, how did you know I was here? Your brother tell you? Lestrade?"

"It might have been mentioned in passing," Sherlock admitted. "But I found the car. I am assuming you knew I was working on this case?"

"No, actually, I didn't," realization dawned on John's face. "You mean help like you helped with the other one?" John indicated his gunshot wound that he got at the bank robbery. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. A flesh wound."

"That doesn't mean it didn't hurt like bloody hell!" John said, irritated already. Why had he let this infuriating (albeit gorgeous) man in the car?

"You enjoyed it," Sherlock turned to watch John's expression, which went from affronted to angry to amused in a matter of seconds. "Fascinating," Sherlock said under his breath. 

"What?" John said, but he had noticed the air getting thicker between them as Sherlock studied him, and blushed. John wondered if Sherlock was oblivious to the sexual tension, since he was oblivious to other person to person interactions. He noticed Sherlock ignored the question.

"Now, as you may have noticed, the drug dealers in this part of town are quite clever. They have probably noticed your car."

"It's unmarked," John protested.

"And they knew it would be unmarked," Sherlock responded slowly, like he was talking to a child. "They are never going to make a move while you're here, in this car."

"Dammit," John cursed. He was mad at the thought that this had been a wasted stake out, and even madder that Sherlock was probably right.

"I suggest leaving, losing the car at the station, and coming back in different clothing. You can't be so obvious. I mean, you look like an officer, for God's sake!"

"I am an officer! I can't help it if I dress neatly." John looked down at his department issued navy trousers and white button down shirt. He did admit it looked a bit too clean.

"Don't be stupid. Your haircut screams military and likely police, and you are much too well dressed to be in this part of town. Let's go."

"I can't just leave, Sherlock. I'm on duty. Christ- I didn't ask for your help! I am doing just fine without you."

"Yes, yes. Lestrade asked me to help, and he is your superior, and currently you are in the way of MY investigation. Would you prefer I apprise Lestrade of the new plan? Explain the situation to him? I am sure even he will see the logic in it," with this Sherlock haughtily pulled out his mobile and sent off a couple furious texts to Lestrade.

Barely 30 seconds had passed when John's mobile rang.

"John? Yeah, is he bothering you? Need me to pick him up?" Lestrade sounded weary, like this was something he had run into before.

"Er...well yes, but he may have a point. Just wondering if you would mind trying another tactic. Sherlock swears they know the car, it's unmarked, but-" 

Sherlock wrenched the mobile from his hands. "Lestrade, John's appearance is making this much harder than it has to be. He needs to blend in, and so does the car. They will never make a drop while he is sitting out here." Sherlock was furiously drumming his fingers on his knee in agitation and the need to DO SOMETHING.

John heard Lestrade reply in a resigned tone. Sherlock said "Obviously" at least three times before he hung up without saying goodbye.

"Fine. Now drop the car off, change into something less conspicuous, perhaps jeans and a t-shirt, hoodie, sweatshirt, or something similar. Then meet me at 221B Baker Street as soon as possible. "

"What's there?" John said. 

Turning to John he said, "My flat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter here, but I have not forgotten this fic with the other WIPs I have. Fear not! More flirting soon. I didn't want to force a PWP unless it was plausible from the characters' POV.


	4. Chapter 4

John showed up at Sherlock's flat. En route he had received a text that said, "Come in, door's open. Upstairs flat." 

John still felt a little awkward as he pushed open the door. "Hello?" he called out. Nothing.

He sighed and after a cursory glance at the downstairs flat's door, began mounting the stairs to the upstairs flat. 

When knocking didn't get any response, he turned the knob and crept into the flat. He felt like he should be quiet, but he knew that was ridiculous; after all, he had been invited. 

He was surprised at what he saw. The flat was spacious enough even accounting for all the books and papers strewn about. Still, the warm colors and the fireplace made the main living area rather cozy. The smell of alcohol and what was that- formaldehyde?- had John moving towards what he assumed was the kitchen, even though it appeared to be more of a makeshift chemistry lab. His law enforcement gaze swept the kitchen for anything illegal- he had seen enough meth labs in kitchens with less beakers than this, thank you. 

"Don't be boring, John. There is nothing drug-related in here."

John turned to see Sherlock coming out of another door off the kitchen. Steam followed his body, and John watched him toweling his hair off. He wasn't prepared for a shirtless Sherlock though, and froze. It appeared that Sherlock didn't care one way or the other if he was shirtless in front of a new acquaintance, the way he was acting. John's throat went dry, and against his better judgement his eyes roved over the well-built body in front of him.

Sherlock lifted his hands and held onto the open door frame, stretching as he did so. He was wearing dark jeans which hugged his waist and showed the beginning of a trail of dark hair over his lower abdomen as they were tugged gently down by gravity. The detective had his eyes closed and head tilted back, like he was having a good stretch. John saw his chance to look away, perhaps without being detected. He thought, 'I am staring and need to stop'...but he couldn't. Instead he continued to let his eyes wander. 

From the top of Sherlock's head, John saw damp, dark brown curls brushing against long eyelashes. His sharply contrasting cheekbones were highlighted by the differing light and resultant shadows between the bathroom and the kitchen. A couple rogue drops from the shower drops slid down his long and sensuous neck, making John lick his lips subconsciously.

His eyes continued to follow the water's journey as they slid slowly...slowly down. The scant moisture snaked down the soft skin of Sherlock's shouder, moved alongside erect nipples and sculpted pectoral muscles, dripped down over ribs (poking out just a bit too much), and followed the peaks and valleys of well used abdominal muscles. John was lost in his own world as he watched the drops slide past an attractive innie bellybutton and concave stomach (too skinny), until they were swallowed below the waist of Sherlock's jeans. 

Suddenly realizing he had been staring at Sherlock's half-naked body for something like 30 seconds, and hoping against hope that Sherlock hadn't noticed yet, John's eyes snapped up to Sherlock's. No such luck. Sherlock's expression was a mixture of surprise and hopeful interest. Well damn. There was nothing for it. He had been caught out. Swallowing loudly, John turned away and cleared his throat. 

"Ready to go?" John asked, hoping his voice didn't sound as rough to Sherlock as it did to him.

He heard Sherlock grunt non-commitally, then: "I am glad you changed clothes. You should fit in much better now." 

John wasn't sure, but it looked to him like Sherlock was looking at his clothes a little too hard. A wild thought went through John's mind: maybe Sherlock was interested?

John looked down at the clothes he had chosen. Old but still serviceable jeans, trainers, and a black t-shirt. He had also brought a light black jacket, but it was pretty warm tonight. Nothing special, but he knew the black shirt highlighted his broad shoulders and toned arms.

"So what's the plan?" John tried not to look as Sherlock pulled a grey Henley on over his head, making his curls even more riotous. He watched as the detective ran his fingers through them repeatedly, trying to tame them. 

Christ he was acting like a horny teenager. He needed something too calm his nerves, and he knew just the thing.

"May I?" John said, indicating the teapot. Sherlock nodded and began outlining the plan: their cover story, where they would wait, and who they were looking for based on Sherlock's private investigation.

John nodded from time to time. He found a box of tea and two cups after opening a few cupboards and waited for the water to boil. As he poured the boiling water and waited for the tea to steep, Sherlock finished his briefing. He was using the table as leverage as he laced up some black hiking boots.

"So why didn't you tell the police all this?"

"I'm telling you, aren't I?"

"Yeah, now."

"The police are idiots," Sherlock stated simply, adding two sugars and blowing on his cuppa. 

John took a long slurp and then looked at Sherlock incredulously.

"What? No don't look like that. Practically everyone is. However, I believe you, John, may be just the person I needed. Drink up and let's go."


End file.
